


Paint Me (Like One of Your French Girls)

by orphan_account



Series: Pride Month Mini Series [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Art student Peter, Biodad Tony, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Bucky being a soft boi, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, IronDad and SpiderSon, M/M, Peter is a Little Shit, Professor Tony, TA Bucky, son peter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-06-02 10:38:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19439746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Peter comes home to find his dad's sexy TA at his dinner table, and ends up painting said TA's metal arm a bright rainbow for Pride.





	Paint Me (Like One of Your French Girls)

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by art on tumblr :)

“Hey, dad!” Peter calls, slamming the door shut and toeing off his shoes.

“Hey, kid, I’m in the kitchen! Watch your mouth please, we got company!” Tony calls back.

“I have no idea what you’re referring to, old man. I’m an angel, I don’t need to watch my mou-…” Peter trails off, walking into the kitchen, promptly losing the ability to speak and functionality in general when he lays eyes on the most attractive man he’s ever seen. “Oh. H-hi!”

The man smiles, a slow, easy, ~~effortlessly sexy~~ thing. “Hey, Pete. Your dad’s told me so much about you.” His voice is like the rest of him, rough, smooth, ~~effortlessly sexy.~~

Peter forces himself to tear his gaze away from the well done and ~~effortlessly sexy~~ top knot the man’s sporting long enough to respond. “Go-good things only, I hope.” He winces, clearing his throat when it comes out _just_ this side of too high and too breathy, and his dad fixes him with a knowing look while the other man just laughs.

“Of course. Good things only.”

“You good, Pete?” Tony cuts in, smirk playing on his lips, biting back his amusement when Peter nods hastily.

“Yeah, dad, totally fine. Who’s your guest, by the way?”

“Whoops, where ‘re my manners?” Sexy Guy laughs again, and _wow_ he’s got a really nice laugh. “I’m Bucky. Well, James really, James Barnes, but everyone calls me Bucky. I’m your dad’s TA for the semester.”

“Ahh, the semesterly get-to-know-your-TA-dinner in the Stark household. Gotcha. Nice to meet you, Bucky,” Peter smiles, shaking Bucky’s outstretched hand, relishing the warmth of his hand and the strength of his grip. He walks over to the kitchen sink to wash his hands, Tony swatting his ass with the hand towel over his shoulder as he walks past.

“Go wash up in the shower, kid. I don’t want you getting paint chemicals all over my kitchen.”

“ _Relax_ , old man.” Peter rolls his eyes, drying his hands off with a towel. “The paint is _dry_.”

“The paint’s yours?” Bucky asks, gesturing vaguely towards Peter’s jeans. “I thought you bought ‘em like that.”

“Nope, just serving as collateral damage in the life of an art student,” Peter laughs.

“Oh, you’re in art school?”

Peter fixes Bucky with a look at the question, eyes slightly narrowed. “Did my dad _actually_ tell you anything about me, or did you just say that to be nice?” He sounds more serious than he is, secretly delighting at the flush that spreads across Bucky’s chiselled cheekbones.

“Dinner’s served, kiddos!” Tony cuts in before Bucky can respond, setting the plates on the dining table with a flourish. Tony ruffles his hair when Peter passes him on the way to the dining table. “And don’t give Buck a hard time. Today was the first day of classes, I haven’t even told him anything about _myself_ yet.”

“I find it hard to believe he doesn’t already know _everything_ about you, dad. That’s usually one of your requirements, isn’t it? For them to be able to cite your Wiki page by heart, forwards and backwards?” Peter snarks, fork digging into his pasta.

“Stop trynna make me look bad, kid,” Tony admonishes, heading back to the table after washing his hands. “They only need to cite it one way, be it forwards or backwards.”

“Right, sorry, how could I forget?” Peter quips dryly, shovelling a forkful of pasta into his mouth. “But to answer your earlier question,” he says, turning towards Bucky, “yeah, I’m in art school.”

Bucky finishes chewing before responding, taking a quick second to compliment Tony on the food. “Pasta tastes real good, Tony, thank you so much for having me.” Tony tilts his head, a humble acknowledgement of the compliment, and Bucky turns his attention towards Peter. “How come you didn’t do something science-y like your dad, Pete?”

“You should be thanking _me_ ,” Peter says, addressing the first comment first. “I’m the one who taught him how to make it.”

“Finding your grandmother’s recipe book in the bowels of the attic is _not_ the same thing as teaching me basic cooking, I’ll have you know,” Tony shoots back, pointing at Peter with his fork. “And doesn’t matter how many science camps you pay for and experiment kits you buy them, sometimes kids are just born to disappoint you, you know?” Tony sighs dramatically, clutching at his seemingly aching heart.

Peter rolls his eyes, clearly having heard that one before, and Bucky smiles softly at their dynamic. “I’m pretty good at science, but art’s what I _love_ , yenno?”

“And when you have a dad who can afford to support your broke-for-the-rest-of-your-life ass, it doesn’t hurt to do what you _love_ , does it Pete?” Tony says, rounding on Peter with wide eyes as if truly interested in his response, only to be met with a napkin to the face.

The rest of dinner passes with much of the same, father and son exchanging harmless barbs and meaningless quips, keeping Bucky entertained and thoroughly amused. Bucky offers to help Tony clean up once dinner is finished, Peter excusing himself to his studio to work on a piece for school.

He loses himself in his work, startled back to awareness when there’s a knock on the door, Bucky peaking his head in when Peter yells, “come in!”

“Hey, Pete. Your dad’s headed for bed, so I’m gonna head out.”

“Oh! Is it that late already?” Peter questions, slightly bewildered so much time had passed since dinner.

“Yeah, it is,” Bucky chuckles, still leaning against the door. “What’s got you so caught up?”

“Oh,” Peter waves vaguely to the canvas in front of him. “Just this thing I’m working on for school.”

Bucky arches an eyebrow. “Mind if I see?”

“Of course! Come in, come in.” Peter waves Bucky forward, gesturing to the spare stool next to him. “Have a seat, if you’d like.”

Bucky slips onto the seat but he’s already captivated by the work before him, reaching up his left arm to trace the canvas before remembering at the last second the paint might still be wet, hastily retracting his hand. “Shit, ‘m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Peter laughs. “You wouldn’t believe the number of times I’ve done that. Ruined so many pieces like that.”

“I’d hate to be the one to ruin this. It’s fuckin’ gorgeous,” Bucky breathes. “What is it supposed to be?”

“It’s a, uhm, self portrait,” Peter answers, slightly faint at the compliment. “We have to do one every semester. Supposed to show how our image of ourselves evolves over time or some shit.”

“You don’t seem particularly invested,” Bucky points out.

“That’s because I’m not. I’d literally rather be doing anything else.”

“Anything, hm?” Bucky quips with a side eye, and Peter flushes. Bucky brings his left hand up to scratch at his chin, and Peter notices something he hadn’t before. Not that he had a prosthetic, Bucky had mentioned that earlier. But now that his sleeves were rolled up and more of it was visible, Peter notices the flecks of paint on the different plates, alternating in the colours of the rainbow.

“What happened to your arm, Buck?”

“Hmm? Oh,” Bucky grins, suddenly shy. It’s a good look on him, Peter can’t help but note. “One of the kids at school convinced me to paint it for Pride. I tried, but, uhm, I’m not much of an artist. So it’s kinda unfinished.”

“Aww, that’s so cuteeee,” Peter simpers, pinching Bucky’s cheek, laughing when the older man tries to swat him away. “I’d be happy to finish it for you, if you like?”

“Oh, would you? That’s be great! I feel like I look like such an idiot, walking around with it half done.”

“Well, for what it’s worth, I don’t think you could ever look like an idiot,” Peter throws over his shoulder, moving off his stool to pick up his colour palette.

“Now you’re just flatterin’ me, sweetheart,” and Peter looks up in time to see that same slow, easy, effortlessly sexy grin on Bucky’s lips.

“I might be,” Peter acquiesces. “Doesn’t make it any less true.”

“Fair enough,” Bucky allows. “Would you…”

Peter arches an eyebrow when Bucky trails off, unfinished. “Would I what?”

“Would you maybe wanna go with me to Pride this year? Help me show this thing off?” And the grin is still on his lips but Bucky looks softer, more hesitant, and it makes Peter melt a little.

“I’d love that,” Peter says, soft and sincere, and Bucky smiles, a brilliantly bight thing. “If my dad says it’s okay for you to take me, that is,” smile turning to a shit eating grin when Bucky groans, the muttered _fuck_ under his breath making Peter laugh. “Don’t chicken out on me now, big guy. If I’m puttin’ all this effort into paintin’ your arm, I gotta be there to reap the rewards. Besides, you’ll be fine, he likes you. A little, at least. That’s always good.”

“Shut up and paint the damn arm, you little shit. Try not to make it any worse,” Bucky grunts, rolling his eyes at Peter’s pout. “Aw, ‘m sorry, did I hurt your feelings? Will you paint me like one of your French girls, baby?” Bucky simpers, laughing when he’s met with a towel to the face for his troubles.

“I hate you.”

**Author's Note:**

> [@starkerchemistryy](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/starkerchemistryy)on tumblr, come say hi! :)


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